


Your Favorite Girl

by missparker



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/pseuds/missparker
Summary: She used to be better at compartmentalizing, she thinks.





	

_I wish that without me your heart would break_  
_I wish that without me you'd be spending the rest of your nights awake_  
_I wish that without me you couldn't eat_  
_I wish I was the last thing on your mind before you went to sleep_

**Nicest Thing - Kate Nash**

*

Bernie’s wrist deep in the thigh of a boy the same age as Cameron. There’s not a lot to salvage; everything’s a mess of muscle and blood and bone. It’s slow going work, picking out the foreign objects, pulling things out with sterile tongs and trying to decide what it is - a bit of grit from the asphalt? Plastic or metal? This one’s a shard of thigh bone, but there’s no putting that back together again. He’ll need grafts, he’ll need so much physical therapy that he’ll feel it’ll never end and even after all that, even if he’s diligent, he’ll still never be the same. Maybe a limp. Certainly weaker on this side. 

All this for a motorbike, some rain, some oil sitting like a pretty rainbow on the road. 

She used to be better at compartmentalizing, she thinks. Things are different on the side of the dusty road, the sun beating down. Working on soldiers is different. Everyone knew why they were there. More of her patients died than not. Losing a leg was just a thing that happened. 

But here, in this sterile, temperature controlled room, it all seems so bloody senseless. Cameron was in here just last week, his face cut to hell from broken glass. This could be him. 

She looks over and she sees her son, again and again. 

War is a reason to die or be maimed. This is nonsense.

“Ms. Wolfe?”

Serena’s voice. She looks up, surprised. Serena has scrubbed in simply to come into the room for a consult. She’s holding an tablet in her gloved hand, looking concerned.

“Sorry,” Bernie mumbles. “I was in the zone.”

“You’re sweating,” Serena says. She peers over at the leg and tsks.

“It’s basically hamburger,” Bernie says defensively. “There’s no repairing it until it’s cleaned out.”

“Let Dr. Copeland take a whack at it,” Serena says. “Step out with me. I could use your advice.” 

She studies Serena’s face, just her eyes are all she can really see, then glances at Dom and nods when she finds Serena to look authentic enough. She steps back, he takes her place.

“I’ll be right out here,” she says. “Don’t rush. Mind the artery.”

“Got it,” he says. 

Outside, she shucks her gloves, pulls the mask from her face and she realizes she is hot, all tensed up and sweaty. She takes off her cap, too, and her fringe is stuck to her forehead. Serena looks her over carefully, before extending the tablet. 

There’s nothing she can tell Serena that Serena doesn’t already know, but she offers her opinion anyhow and Serena agrees. 

“Have you eaten today, Bernie?” she asks in a gentle voice, so easy and soft it slides in like a knife. 

“I’m fine,” Bernie says. Not a voice she has to use very often with Serena. The tone Marcus used to refer to as the Major. A tone that says, stand back. Don’t cross this line. 

“All right,” Serena says. Bernie turns away, ready to head back inside, to wash up all over again, back once more into the fire. Serena’s voice stops her once more. “That’s not your boy in there. Wipe that look off your face, Bern. He’s someone’s boy, but not yours.”

And then she walks away.

How terribly humiliating, Bernie thinks as she scrubs at her nail beds. How absolutely ghastly to be so transparent. To not have the secrets that you’d thought.

oooo

She wakes up sweaty now, too. Nearly every night. She’s taken to keeping a glass of water by her bed even though she knocks it over half the time. Always exhausted and bleary, always tired deep into the bone. This cushy hospital life is making her soft. She has bad dreams but they always take place in the present. The halls of Holby hospital, the faces she sees there everyday. Her new friends, Alex called them. The new life she’s cobbled together from the wreckage of the old one.

She gets up, turns on the shower, washes her body efficiently, does not hesitate to look down at the scar on her chest, the newest of a vast collection. She towels off and then wraps the damp towel around her head, digging through the pile of clothing on the floor for knickers that are clean or clean enough. There’s laundry in the building, but she’s got to haul it all downstairs. She’s been able to put it off by wearing mostly scrubs and buying new underwear but now it’s everything that needs a good laundering. Her bath towels and her bed sheets, salty with the sweat of so many endless nights. 

When she gets to work, Serena’s already in their office. Serena’s in a pressed blouse and smells faintly of something musky and sweet. Serena has rosy cheeks and dark lips and has purchased for Bernie a cup of coffee. It sits waiting by her computer, booted up and humming merrily. 

And here is Bernie, mismatched socks and hair still damp in the underneath. She can’t remember the last time she remembered to put on makeup. She can’t remember the last time she beat Serena to work and left her coffee like an offering on an altar. 

She drops her bag, feels like flopping into her chair but lowers herself with more care in deference to her spine, picks up the coffee cup and wraps her long fingers around it, warming them through.

Serena looks at her, gives her one of those soft smiles with beaming eyes. 

“Hullo,” Bernie says softly. 

“‘Ello, you,” she says. 

oooo

There’s some drama going on and for once she's not at the heart of it. She spends about forty five minutes being grateful and keeping her head down before the curiosity starts to seep in. She's only human, after all. Everyone knows her business, isn't it only right she get to be on the other side for once? 

She stands close enough to the nurses’ station to hear what they’re talking about. Pretending to catch up on a chart, perusing a tray of unsterile tools while she strains to hear the news. Something about a lovers tiff up on Darwin. 

Not so interesting after all but beggars can't be choosy. This is where Serena finds her, loitering. 

“Is this about Zosia or am I a day behind?” Serena murmurs into Bernie’s shoulder. 

“No, this is about-” 

Bernie stops. Nearly caught. 

“I haven't a clue, Ms. Campbell,” Bernie says. 

“Oh ho, nice save,” Serena says, eyes sparkling. “You can tell me about it at Albies after work tonight when we get off.”

“Tonight?” Bernie echoes faintly. 

“And don't try to weasel out of it,” Serena warns. “I’ll find you. Like a wolfhound, I'll sniff you out, wherever you are.” She pauses and then says “Wolfhound.” Chuckles at her own joke. 

“Perhaps we can walk over together,” Bernie says uncertainly. 

Serena gives her that same look that Bernie hasn't yet deciphered. At first she thought it pity but knows better now. Still, it's some sort of concern. Like Bernie is a bird flown off course, trapped inside a glass building and Serena is still puzzling over the best way to get her to set herself free without injury or pain. 

“Of course,” Serena says. 

Bernie doesn't even particularly like Shiraz. She can think of, off hand, about six wines she likes more. But she’ll certainly split a bottle with Serena, sit knee to knee all night. Be desperate to get closer and force herself not to give herself what she wants. She's learned a lifetime of hard lessons and the foremost is that if she wants it, she ought not to have it. 

Right now she has Serena’s friendship. She'll simply have to teach herself to desire only that. 

One bottle of wine at a time. 

oooo

She finds herself in Serena’s shower like this: the hot water in her flat has gone out and a new water heater must be ordered. She’ll be inconvenienced for at least two days. So, she packs a small bag and brings it to work, intending on showering there. Serena spies the bag in their office, pries the whole story out from Bernie as so often she does, demands that Bernie spend the one or possibly two nights with her and Jason. Does not take no for an answer and Bernie, already weak where Serena is concerned, simply gives in. 

“Think of the money we’ll save caravaning,” Serena points out, not quite looking Bernie in the eye. 

Bernie could stand in that office all day trading quips with Serena but outside, a commotion begins. Patients, junior doctors, procedures. Bernie’s slotted to spend half the day in theatre. 

“Until then,” Serena says, giving them both permission to go about their days. 

Later, Bernie suggests lightly that the use of one’s shower does not necessarily mean spending an entire night.

“We don't both have to be inconvenienced,” Bernie says.

To which Serena replies, “Don't be daft.”

The things that seem especially fiddly and tricky to Bernie come easily to Serena. Kindness, friendship, intimacy that is not agonizing. Serena is happy to give out kindness like it costs nothing. Is always trying to deposit it directly into Bernie’s open hands. 

The shower itself is Serena’s shower, the one just off her bedroom. Bernie had thought surely the guest but Serena had been wary of upsetting Jason and his routines. He likes Bernie a lot but not enough for her to accidentally nudge his shampoo out of place. Bernie had agreed, walked through Serena’s bedroom with her bag on her shoulder and her towel clutched to her chest. 

She touches everything on the counter. The hairbrush with the wooden handle, the box of minty floss, the pink tube of lip cream that makes Serena’s mouth so shiny and enticing. The shower is smaller but not as small as the one in Bernie’s flat and better than a hospital one. She unbuttons her shirt with careful hands. Folds up all her articles of clothing and sets them on the closed lid of the toilet. Stands naked on the bathmat and fusses with the shower. Too hot then not enough. 

Serena’s bath things all greet her when she steps inside. A pink razor, a pink poof. She stares at all of it in curious horror. This is what Charlotte’s tub always looked like. Bottles and bottles of things. Bernie knows bar soap and shampoo, it's always been that way. She's worked conditioner into the mix since rejoining civilian society but she always just grabs the cheapest, the one that smells the most like soap. These things have scents. Flowers and fruits and tropical, exotic things. She picks up the one that seems the most like shampoo and gives it a sniff. 

A mistake, a wretched one. That smell, that exact… it's a bit of Serena in a bottle, that. She knows it now, the brand and the color of the bottle. It's something she could go out and buy, something she could sniff at her leisure. Something she could torture herself with. The smell makes her screw up her face, makes her fingers clench. The wanting is intolerable and it's always on her, harder and harder to subdue. 

It's stupid, but she washes her hair with it, the conditioner too. Sticks her face under the hot spray and counts to ten twice. Shuts the shower off and stands there dripping. She’s stuck here for one night, but she wouldn't survive two. She’ll have to figure a way out of it. 

The towel smells of Serena, too. She breathes it in deep, a catch in her throat, the plush terrycloth muffling the noise of despair she can't quite keep in. 

oooo

It's the wanting that drives her out of the country. A little, it feels like being back in the army, going off on assigned orders, working for the greater good. But she knows that isn't why she says yes to Hanssen. She does it because of Serena, she does it for her. Bernie's all burned up and worn out but it isn't too late for Serena to get her life back on track. To not let the same thing Bernie carries inside her infect Serena as well. 

In some ways, being with men is easy. No one looks twice and all you really have to do is lie back and open up wide. Bernie wishes she’d lived her whole mundane life that way. Marcus in her bed, her life inside her head her own. But Alex had cracked everything wide open and she finds now that she can’t stuff everything back in. 

Serena’s mouth like a lit candle in the window. Always drawing her back in again. 

So she leaves. Hurts Serena now so it won't hurt more later. Serena gives kindness but Bernie gives only heartache, pain, remorse. Infection. 

Kiev is all work. She works, she sleeps, she works again. She saves lives, loses some, too. She keeps everyone at arm’s length. They respect her, they call her an ice queen behind her back. She overhears someone talking about her once. They say, “beautiful but cruel.”

This life is exactly what she deserves. She is what they say. The cruelty, at least. 

oooo

She feels as if she were gone a blink, she feels as if she were gone forever. But Holby seems exactly the same as she left it. Her flat, her car, the hospital. The only person she's spoken to so far is Hanssen to arrange for her professional return. He’d offered her a gap so she had time to settle back in but there's nothing to settle into. She wants the work, she needs the work to keep her steady and even keeled. To rip out the bad and screw everything back into place. It's so easy to do on other people. Her own traumas? 

Well. 

She comes in early enough that the night shift has only just started to think about going home. Serena’s office is dark. It's still her office too but she can't imagine that's going to last. Serena will look at her with disgust, will request that things be reorganized to keep them apart. When they’d done the remodeling for the trauma unit, Hanssen had offered to add an additional office so Bernie could have one of her own and both women agreed that no, it'd be a waste of usable space and they were happy how they were. Seems a bit stupid now. 

In the locker room she changes into the dark navy scrubs that mark her as a trauma doctor and shoves everything into her locker, another thing that has gone unchanged in two months time. 

The first person she sees that she knows well enough to welcome her back is Raf. She goes down for coffee, he's already in line. 

“Doctor Wolfe!” he says. “You’re back!”

“Yes,” she says. “Only just.”

“How was it?” he asked. “I hear Kiev is a beach town.”

“Not in November,” she says. 

Raf laughs, shakes his head at himself. “Well Serena must be relieved. I think she’d convinced herself you were never coming back.”

They’d asked her to stay, of course. Offered her a package much more lucrative than the NHS was ever going to cough up, and she had been considering it actually. Leaning heavily toward yes because she knew she’d mucked up things beyond repair with Serena. But then Serena had emailed and that was that. She’d purchased her return ticket, gotten on her flight. She can’t think of anything she’ll miss about Kiev, other than it being somewhere else. 

Raf orders his coffee, pays for it and turns back to her expectantly. “Well?”

“Oh it was fine. It was really interesting but it was never meant to be permanent,” Bernie says, trying to sound reassuring. “I… she doesn't know I'm back.”

Raf’s eyebrows shoot up but Bernie is now holding up the coffee queue and so she steps forward and orders her flat white, hands over her money and moves aside. Raf has waited for her. She just pulls a face to let him know that she knows that it's all going to be a lot of trouble. She’d left things a mess and just like her locker and her flat, that too is going to be exactly the same. 

“Aye, go easy on her,” Raf says. “She’s had a rough go.”

“Why? What happened?” Bernie asks, filling with dread. Jason or Elinor perhaps? An illness or an accident?

“Didn't you hear?” Raf says. “Bernie left.”

Ouch. Or that. He takes his coffee from the bar and doesn't wait for hers. Doesn't hold the lift. Her coffee is so hot it scalds the tip of her tongue. 

oooo

Serena is wearing a new shirt, something Bernie has never seen before. It's a soft green and has a panel of lace at the back. 

Bernie had thought about hiding, but chose to face it at the front of the day instead. Serena arrives, coat draped over her arm and stalls completely at the office door. Just stares at Bernie, her face wide open with surprise. 

“ _Pryvit_ ,” Bernie says after a few long moments of unbearable silence. “That means hello in Ukrainian.”

“When did you get back?” Serena says. 

“Day before yesterday,” Bernie says. “I wanted to get back to work right away.”

“You should’ve called,” Serena says, coming into the office and setting her purse down on her desk. She turns her back on Bernie to hang her coat and says, “Jason and I would've picked you up at the airport.”

Of all the scenarios Bernie had imagined of seeing Serena again, and she had imagined a fair few, an olive branch was never something she expected. 

“I like your blouse,” Bernie says, somewhat dumbly. She wants to be kind but fumbles it. 

Out at the desk, the red phone starts to ring. 

“Anyway,” Serena says, “Welcome home.”

What is Bernie supposed to do with any of that? She doesn't get a chance to figure it out because Serena turns around and runs out like the place is on fire. 

It's for the best, truly. Serena had asked her back to work and it's the work she’ll focus on. 

The phone call delivers a young girl, eleven-years-old, took a fall from a balcony and Bernie remembers that Serena is at her best when working and that's the first thing they’d had in common. She hopes that holds, their partnership in the theatre and like the first sign of spring after a long, wet winter, Bernie finds that it does.

After, when they're wheeling her into aftercare, Bernie pulls off her mask and gives Serena a relieved smile. 

Serena smiles back but it quickly falters and then disappears. “Excellent work as always, Ms. Wolfe,” she says and leaves the theatre. 

Bernie stands in the empty theatre for several minutes, her mask clutched in her hand. Stands there until the prep team comes in for the next surgery and ask her very politely to leave. 

oooo

Bernie stops at the supermarket to buy a carton of milk and a few sandwiches to tide her over and also a bottle of whiskey because why not. She eats half of one of the sandwiches when she gets back to the flat but it tastes off so she chucks the other half in the bin and decides to drink the rest of her dinner. 

It helps her get to sleep anyway, sprawled out on her bed with her clothes still on. That's how she wakes up, though her mouth feels like the inside of a dumpster and her bladder close to bursting. She stumbles to the toilet and brushes her teeth. Prays for death. Skips the shower and uses that energy to put on clean clothes. 

The hospital is too bright, too loud, and when she gets to the office, Serena is there but gone are the days of a friendly cup of coffee waiting for her. Bernie drops her bag and her coat and leaves again without saying hello. She’ll splash some water on her face and put on some scrubs and hope for an easy day. When she comes out of the locker room, Serena is standing there with her arms crossed.

Bernie ignores her and goes into the toilet. Splashes water and looks at her own reflection. Dark circles, red cheeks. She's not one to throw everything up the next day, but the headache is truly awful and her stomach could do with churning a little less. 

Serena is still in the hall. Sticks her arm out when Bernie tries to walk past. 

“What?” Bernie says. 

“You seem…” Serena trails off, waiting for Bernie to admit something. 

“I'm fine.”

“You smell like a pub,” Serena says. 

“And every time you came to work smelling of a vineyard, did I lecture you?” Bernie asks. 

Serena gives her a hurt look. “I've not lectured you. I was just-”

“Protecting your ward from the Major?” Bernie accuses. 

“-concerned.” Serena shakes her head. “It's our ward.”

Bernie scoffs. 

“I don't know why I’m the one in trouble!” She leans in and hisses. “You left me if you’ll recall. This hospital needs you and I’m trying to make it work.”

Bernie winces, tips her head back and breathes. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ll try harder.”

“Take a shower,” Serena suggests. “I’ll cover things. Lord knows I can do it on my own.”

Bernie stares at her, pained. But Serena doesn't apologize for the little jab. 

The hospital showers are slightly grimy and not as private as one might hope but after years of military service, that hardly bothers her any longer and she is an expert in quick showers. By the time someone comes in, a nurse covered in blood, she’s already got her scrub pants and bra on. Gives the poor girl a sympathetic smile and pulls on her top. 

She does feel slightly better when she gets back to the empty office, better still when she sees Serena has left her some pain relief tablets on her desk with a bottle of water. 

Hot and cold, that one. One is real, probably, and the other a front. Hard to tell which is which. 

oooo

Three weeks later, they lose a patient in theatre. It's no one’s fault, exactly, the trauma was too severe. The man was basically dead on arrival and they’d tried to piece him back together but the blood loss was so much that they're all covered with it, well past their gloves and down the front of their gowns. It’s Serena who stops them, red hands in the air. 

“It's time to call it, do we all agree?” Serena says says but she looks only at Bernie. The people around them nod. Someone says yes. Bernie shakes her head, not because she doesn’t agree but because she finds the whole situation to be wrong. But Serena asks again, sharply, “Ms. Wolfe, do you agree?”

She stares at Serena’s eyes, her beautiful dark eyes and pale skin. 

“Bernie,” Serena says, kinder, now. 

“Agreed,” Bernie says. Serena calls it, they step back and Serena comes around to Bernie’s side.

“You have blood on your face,” Serena says. “Come on, let's go wash up.”

It's easy to follow Serena out, leave the fallen chap behind. Serena pulls off her gown and pushes it in the bin, pulls off her mask and cap. She notes that Bernie is still just standing there so she walks up to her, lifts her arms and reaches behind her to untie the gown and pull it off of Bernie, the wet gloves going with it and landing on the floor with a splat. 

“Just because I'm mad doesn't mean I don't understand that Ukraine was hard for you, too.” Serena smiles kindly at her. “We’ll lose them, Bern. Even together.”

“I feel that you lose… lose more when I'm around than when I'm not,” Bernie says. 

Serena rolls her eyes. “You're really quite thick.”

“Sorry?” she says.

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I might be the best judge of what I'm feeling? That all you had to do was stand in one spot long enough for me to tell you that but all you've done is head for the hills!” Serena says. There isn’t much between them and the rest of the theatre. Only swinging doors and a large, glass window. She can see half the room watching them.

Bernie rips off her mask and cap and walks out of the scrub room. Only a moment later, Serena comes barreling out and bellows “See? You're doing it now!”

Everyone on the ward stops and stares at them. She sees Fletch reach into his pocket and pull something out. A wallet. Raf is standing next to him and just shakes his head. 

“No,” Bernie says, forcing herself to stay quiet. “I just didn't want to have this discussion in front of other people.”

Serena looks around and realizes what she’d done; colour rises in her cheeks. “My office.”

She closes the door after them and snaps the blinds closed. 

“I will admit that perhaps I left too suddenly but I thought I was doing the right thing,” Bernie says. 

“I know that you thought that,” Serena says. “But as far as apologies go, ‘I'm sorry I made you upset’ is rubbish.”

“That's not… what I meant,” Bernie says. 

Serena crosses her arms and for a moment looks unlike herself. She's in her pale blue scrubs, her hair askew from the surgical cap, no earrings, no necklaces. She looks sterile, she looks bare. 

It occurs to Bernie that perhaps there is nothing salvageable here. 

“I'd offer to change wards but I don't think I can go anywhere but trauma in this hospital,” she offers. 

Serena rolls her eyes and goes to the cupboard. Pulls out a plastic case and places it on the desk. A first aid kit. She snaps the case open and says, “Completely remove leaving from your treatment plan, Ms. Wolfe. Besides pulling a runner, besides transferring wards, besides building a spaceship and rocketing off of this planet, what do you think we could do to mend things, hmm?”

Serena pulls something from the kit, small and square, and tears it open. She smells the alcohol right away. A sterilization wipe.

“I don't know,” Bernie admits. “When I'm stumped in treatment, I usually go for a second opinion. And if I have my druthers, I find and ask you. What do you think we should do, Serena?”

“Ah,” Serena says with a smile, pulling the wipe out and opening it up. “There. Was that so hard?”

“What are you doing with that?” Bernie asks. 

“Blood on your face,” Serena reminds her. “Shall we wipe it away? Start clean?”

Bernie thinks it over a moment and then nods. 

“Good girl,” Serena says.

oooo

Bernie stops by the shop to pick up a bottle of wine on the way. She knows Serena prefers red but she buys white because she doesn't fancy sitting through a home cooked dinner with Jason and Serena with a purple mouth. 

Things are not exactly correct between them, though Bernie couldn't describe what correct would actually mean. Just lovely friends like how they were before Fletch had gotten stabbed or what they had turned into in the after, when Bernie had been so weak and so full of desperate love. 

It's fish and chips night and the invitation had come from Jason, though very clearly orchestrated by his manipulative aunt. She’d agreed easily enough because Bernie’s absence has not seemed to damage her friendship with Jason, only cause him mild confusion that he has already written off as uninteresting. 

When she arrives, Jason already has his meal from the corner shop, wrapped up and pipping hot in blank newsprint. But their meal will be home cooked, with Serena breading and pan frying white slabs of cod on the stove. She puts Bernie to work cutting potatoes into big wedges and layering them with oil and salt. Serena accepts the wine graciously and sticks it into the refrigerator to chill. Bernie will never see it again. They get glasses of an already open bottle of red. 

They invite Jason to eat with them but he declines and eats in front of the telly while they eat at the table next to the big window that overlooks Serena’s backyard. He posits that he doesn't have to help tidy up because he hadn't made the mess. His dinner mess was easily tossed into the bin. Serena does make him take the trash out so that the whole house doesn't stink of fish in the morning and to this, he agrees. 

They invite him to go on a walk with them but he tells them he doesn't have time for that. His nights are planned out infinitely and involve no change if he can help it. So Serena and Bernie put on their coats and set out while there is still light, to walk down the street to the little park that has a walking path that meanders along the tree line. It's a nice, if pricey, neighborhood and Bernie indulges herself briefly in a small fantasy where she buys a house nearby but she can barely manage a flat that she hardly spends time in, so she sends the daydream away. 

“I have a proposition,” Serena says somewhat unexpectedly. “Something I think we should try.”

“Let’s hear it,” Bernie says. 

“We keep our friendship just the way it is. Lovely and easy. Don't rock the boat,” Serena says. 

It's a punch to the gut but one she knew was coming. It's the best case scenario, really and she ought to be grateful. She ought to fall at Serena’s feet in thanks. 

“All right,” is all she can manage. 

“Also, parallel to that, I think we should give ourselves permission to do other things, if necessary.”

“Oh,” Bernie says confused. “No, you’ve lost me.”

“I don't know if you know this, but sometimes you give me these looks that positively scream ‘ravish me’ and it can be quite difficult to resist,” she says with a genuine chuckle. 

“Um.”

“Apparently this arrangement is quite common among people Elinor’s age. Friends with benefits? Have you heard that term?” Serena asks all too innocently. 

Bernie clears her throat and admits that she has. 

“We don't have to have a _relationship_ , that puts too much pressure on us both but that doesn't mean I am forbidden from ever having a snog with you, right?”

“Er…”

“It’s no ones business but our own if we want to be friends who occasionally work out their stressors with a shag,” Serena dithers on. 

“A shag is it now?” Bernie manages but she's smiling because this is so Serena, this whole pretending to be wholly unaffected while giving her these hopeful, sideways glances. 

“I've been researching and honestly, it doesn't seem all so very different and I think what I lack in experience I can more than make up for in enthusiasm, wouldn't you… Bernie?”

Serena has noticed that Bernie is several steps behind her, having stopped. Hearing that Serena had been researching lesbian sex has broken something in her brain and moving her feet has momentarily become too difficult while she processes that notion. She has no doubt that her body would wholeheartedly go for whatever Serena lobbed its way. It always had, so far. 

Serena walks back to Bernie and says, “It was only an idea.”

Bernie tentatively reaches out to grab hold of a few of Serena’s fingers. She's going to tell her that it's not going to work because it never does, not for anyone. That it's such a bad idea that even Shakespeare would have discarded the scheme as too unrealistic or at least labeled the whole thing as a tragedy right from the start. 

Instead she says, “When would this begin?”

Serena’s grin is so beautiful that she smiles back reflexively. 

“Jason is an early riser,” Serena says. “You could stay for tea and maybe when he’s retired, we could….”

“With your nephew down the hall?” she says. 

“Light necking, then,” Serena compromises airily. 

Bernie laughs. 

It's such a very bad idea. 

oooo

Bernie hires someone to come clean her flat once a week now that there's the possibility of someone else seeing it. She finds a woman who will even carry the laundry downstairs to do it in the communal machines. It's magical - she goes to work an untidy slob and comes back to clean floors and crisp sheets. Everything is so nice that she immediately texts Serena to come over. 

Serena replies eventually that it would have to be very late and Bernie agrees to this. They've done more than kiss but nothing Bernie would call sex. But she thinks maybe if Serena came to hers, they'd both feel a little more free. 

Bernie is dozing on the couch in front of her tiny telly when Serena knocks and then lets herself in because she knows Bernie is the type of person who never bothers to lock the door. Bernie sits up, rubs her face and says “Hello.”

“My,” Serena says. “Isn't this so very cozy?”

“It's small and cheap but it's home,” Bernie says. “You look knackered. Come in, sit down. Long day?”

“Meetings and then I got pulled into a surgery right when I was about to leave.” She scrunches her nose and waves it all away, setting her bag on the floor next to the door and draping her coat over the back of a wooden chair. 

“Do you want the tour? It's this and the bedroom.”

“I say, lead on,” Serena says with a tired smile. 

They end up lying on Bernie’s bed. Bernie is rubbing Serena’s bare feet; Serena is snoring. Bernie smiles fondly down at Serena’s red toes, her bony ankles. These are not the benefits she was expecting but it's good all the same. Around midnight she wakes her up and enquires about whether or not Serena needs to go home. 

“Jason knows sometimes I have to stay at the hospital all night,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering closed again. 

Bernie feels the smile curl up her lips. 

She rises, leaves Serena in her bed. She shuts off the light in the front room and the one in the little kitchen. She slips into the loo to brush her teeth and use the toilet. She washes her hands and her face. In the bedroom, the only light is the small lamp on her nightstand and it casts Serena in a soft glow. Bernie watches her as she undresses. Shucks her pants and blouse, climbs onto the bed and moves up to unbutton Serena’s blouse.

Serena’s eyes flutter open to find a mostly naked Bernie hovering over her. 

“Is this a dream?” she asks.

Bernie chuckles. “Afraid not,” she says. “Just trying to make you more comfortable.”

“You’re very…” Serena starts to say.

“Sit up,” Bernie says and Serena does, just enough for Bernie to pull the blouse out from under her and toss it aside. Serena’s bra is black, opaque save for the top of the cups, lined in lace. Bernie feels her face go hot but carries on. 

“Informal,” Serena manages to finish. 

“Trousers, too,” Bernie says. She reaches for the button but Serena’s hands bat hers away she she undoes the button and zipper on her own. Lifts her hips and pushes them down. Bernie helps pull them away. 

Serena’s cheeks have gone rosy, too. 

Bernie crawls up the bed, reaches over Serena and tugs the chain on the lamp. The room goes dark. 

There’s some struggle, some squirming as they get the duvet pulled back and then over them. Serena moves against her right away and Bernie wraps her arms around her. All the skin is intoxicating but Bernie knows how tired she is. She kisses Serena’s shoulder. Serena hums a pleasant little noise. Her feet are cold. 

“Did you know that I dreamed about this?” Serena says into the darkness.

“What, just now?” Bernie asks. 

“No,” Serena says. “While you were away. I used to dream that I’d be asleep in my bed and that you’d just slip into it with me and hold me just like this.” 

Bernie presses her nose into Serena’s hair. Serena upsets the cuddle by rolling over to face Bernie. “Will you kiss me?” she asks.

“I will,” Bernie says. “It’s okay if you need to sleep, Serena. Don’t think I’m not perfectly content exactly the way we are.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Serena says and presses her mouth to Bernie’s. 

At first it’s awkward because Bernie is laughing at her but then she focuses, settles into the kiss, feels Serena’s tongue swipe against her lips. She opens her mouth all too willingly. So far they’ve kissed and kissed. The last time, it was in Serena’s living room while Jason was with Alan for the evening. Bernie had managed to get a hand up her blouse, a knee between her thighs. Serena had rocked against her. She still isn’t sure how they managed to stop. 

They won’t this time, it seems. They’re already so close. Belly to belly, their legs tangled together. Serena has her hands in Bernie’s hair; her fingers tug on the strands when Bernie nips at her bottom lip. The pull on her scalp is exquisite. She reaches for the clasp to Serena’s bra and tweaks it. It comes undone.

“Show off,” Serena says, pulling her mouth away. 

Bernie still has never seen Serena’s breasts and it seems a pity the first time she’s getting access to them is going to be in the dark. Would it be strange to turn the light back on? Probably. She tugs at the front of the thing and it comes away easily. Serena makes another noise, a little huff that turns into a groan. Bernie has to kiss her again, has to. 

Slides her hands across Serena’s bare back, over her ribs before cupping her breasts. Serena moans, presses her face into Bernie’s neck. Bernie makes a sound low in her throat and uses her strength to rearrange them. Serena on her back, Bernie on top of her, straddling her. She dips her head, noses at Serena’s collarbone, licks the soft, pale skin between her breasts.

“Can I touch you?” Bernie pleads. “I have to touch you.”

Serena grins up at her. “You complete plonker.”

“Is that a yes?” Bernie asks, her tongue darting out to swipe across Serena’s nipple.

“It always has been yes,” Serena says fondly. 

Serena’s underwear are black too, but Bernie doesn’t waste time admiring them. She yanks them down, tossing them over her shoulder. 

“I’m... “ Serena says, sounding uneasy for the first time. “I hope you don’t… I’m not…”

She’s so beautiful, of course. Curvy and plump in the way that Bernie likes and admires. Like ripe fruit, soft and round in the places Bernie is not. Bernie kisses her just below her belly button. It’s a luxury, all this exploration. She can count on one hand the number of times she’d gotten to see Alex naked and Alex was more like her, anyway. Thin and wiry, all sharp angles. Mostly they stole away to closets or empty cars, the dark backside of buildings with their hands down each other’s trousers. She’s glad her first time with Serena isn’t anything like that. Nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. 

Bernie presses her hand between Serena’s legs, feels the heat there and Serena’s protests die away. She just breathes in and out, trying to stay calm. 

“Do you want me to talk you through it?” Bernie offers, only half teasing. “Would that help?”

Serena pushes herself up onto her elbows and glowers at Bernie, she can see that well enough with the light that comes through the bedroom window. 

“I’m going to test the waters, so to speak,” Bernie says, running a finger up the length of her. Liquid heat, soft and oh so inviting. Serena whimpers. “I’m going to push my finger inside of you.”

“I hate you, shut up,” Serena manages. 

Bernie chuckles, pushes the finger in.

“Jesus,” Serena says. “Bernie.”

Bernie could spend a hundred years doing this. Watching how Serena’s fingers are clutching at the bedsheets, making her feel as good as possible, hearing every single noise Serena makes. Every pant, every groan, every cry. If she were a more self-indulgent person, she’d drag it out until the sun rose. But she knows that Serena is tired, that she’s had a day, that as into as she is right this moment, she deserves rest too. 

So she pulls the finger out, pushes in two. Curls them inside, searching, until she finds the spot that makes Serena’s eyes roll back, makes her thighs start to shake. She works at it for awhile, though it doesn't feel much like work and Serena moves against her hand, pleading for more and more. 

Bernie lowers her head, swipes at Serena with her tongue. 

Serena goes to pieces.

oooo

Bernie is sitting at the bar when Zosia March comes up and slides onto the stool next to her.

“Long time, no see, Ms. Wolfe,” she says with a smile. “Are you allergic to the sixth floor?”

“Bernie, please,” she says. “You look well.”

“Well enough,” she says. “How was Ukraine?”

“Cold,” Bernie says. Her glass is almost empty. “What are you having? On me.”

“Thanks,” Zosia says. “Wine is fine.”

She waves down the bartender and orders two more. “Where are your Darwin friends?” Bernie asks.

Zosia scrunches up her face. “Ms. Naylor and Ollie are in surgery, Mo is too pregnant to be any fun right now.” 

“Drinking alone, always a solid option,” Bernie says with a grin. 

“What about you?” Zosia shoots back. 

“Me?” Bernie says. 

“Where’s Serena?” she asks. 

Bernie shrugs one shoulder. “Couldn’t say.”

“No?” Zosia laughs. “Gossip has you two joined at the hip.”

“We’re just friends,” Bernie says. That is their arrangement after all. 

“Hmm,” Zosia says. 

Bernie’s phone buzzes and she fishes it out of her pocket. It’s a text from Serena telling her that she’s on her way over.

“Is that from your _friend_?” Zosia smirks. 

“You cardio lot are a bunch of gossips,” Bernie says. “If you ever want to come to a dignified ward, I’d take you on my trauma team in a second.”

“Thank you,” Zosia says. 

They sit companionably for a while before Zosia grins and says, “She’s here.” 

Bernie twists on her stool to look at the door and there she is. She watches Serena scan the room for a moment before finding her and grinning. She walks right over to them, puts her hand on Bernie’s shoulder and says, “How are you, Zosia?”

“I’m well, Ms. Campbell,” she says. She grabs her glass of wine and slides off the stool. “Just keeping your seat warm.”

Serena looks after her, perplexed, but then sits on the empty stool. “That was odd.”

Bernie hides her face in her wine glass. 

She has the same basic conversation with Raf only a few days later. She’s standing at the desk making notes in a chart, halfway waiting to see if Serena is going to come out of surgery in the next few minutes. She’s been in there for hours already. 

“Oh,” he says, catching Bernie starring at the doors that lead to Serena’s theatre. “I don’t think they’re done yet.”

“What?” Bernie asks.

“Serena,” he says with a smile. 

Bernie shakes her head. “I wasn’t…”

“It’s all right, Ms. Wolfe,” he says. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“We’re just friends,” she says. 

He chuckles. “Oh, is that how you’re playing it?”

She raises her eyebrows at him in disbelief.

“I bet that was her idea,” Raf carries on. “I don’t think she realizes.”

“Realizes what?” Bernie asks, setting her pen down and closing the folder. 

“She’s one of my best friends, a fine surgeon,” he says. “Not much of an actress.” 

“I feel lost,” Bernie says. “What are we talking about?”

“It’s okay,” he says. “She told me about you.” 

“About me,” Bernie says. “Serena told you about me and her?”

“Before you came back from Ukraine,” he says. “I can see why after all that she’d want to keep her personal life more private but she’s not hiding it well.”

Bernie squirms uncomfortably. She has a feeling she isn’t supposed to be talking about this. 

“Mr. Di Lucca, if you’re trying to win your bet with Nurse Fletcher-”

“No, no,” he says. 

Bernie feels a hand on her back and then Serena appears in her vision, standing to her left, leaning against the counter, their bare arms flush. She’s still in her scrubs, she looks tired but smiles at them both. 

“How’d it go?” Bernie murmurs. 

“Fine. Tricky, but fine,” she says. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, nothing,” Raf says with a smile. “All quiet out here.”

Bernie levels a glare at him but his good mood is seemingly impervious. He just looks at their arms and then has the gall to wink at her. Bernie straightens up, steps slightly away. Serena doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think I’ll go get some coffee,” Serena says. She turns to Bernie, reaches out and touches her elbow. “You want anything?”

“No,” Bernie says. 

Serena turns to Raf. “You?”

He shakes his head.

Serena shrugs, gives Bernie a squeeze where her fingers have lingered, and then heads for the elevators. 

Bernie glances at Raf who is grinning.

“Oh, do shut up,” she says. 

oooo

Back in Serena’s shower once more. They spend more nights together than apart now, Bernie realizes. 

The only other person home is Jason, downstairs glued to the telly. Bernie had come in, exhausted and feeling greasy and rank. Her shift had gone long, it was humid and hot outside. The heat she didn’t mind, it was the stickiness that made everything feel unendurable. 

Jason had been on his mobile when Bernie had let herself in with the key Serena had given her. 

“Oh,” he’d said into the phone. “No, it’s not her. It’s just her girlfriend.”

She’d frozen, one foot on the stairs. Turned to look at Jason. 

“Alan says hi,” he says. And then, “It’s not polite to eavesdrop, Bernie.” 

“Too right,” she’d said, and sprinted up the steps. 

She starts out with the water as cold as she can stand it but nudges it warm the longer she’s in there and has steamed up the mirror by the time she gets out. Her towel is still hanging on the hook on the door. She uses it to dry off and then wraps up her hair. 

When she opens the bedroom door, Serena is there, stretched out on the bed. 

“My, my,” she says with a saucy grin. 

“Sorry,” Bernie manages, fighting the urge to yank the towel down to cover herself. Nothing Serena hasn't seen but she still feels self conscious about certain things. The scar on her chest that gets pink when put in hot water. Her large feet, her flat chest.

“You're so lovely, it's disgusting,” Serena says now, perhaps sensing Bernie’s insecurities. 

“Skinny and knobby knees,” Bernie says, pulling Serena’s robe from the wardrobe and slipping it on. The sleeves are too short but it's something. 

Serena just snorts at Bernie’s critique of herself. 

“I didn't expect you home so soon,” Bernie says now. 

“Things seemed caught up so I slipped out while I could. I was going to start dinner but Jason said you were here.”

“Is that all right?” Bernie asks. 

“More than,” Serena says. “I get the pleasure of your company and a surprise show.”

“Ha.”

“You can join us if you don't get called in. Heat like this is bound to cause some mischief but we can always dare to dream…”

“Join…?”

“Fletch and his kids are coming tonight? We’re having cottage pies? Remember?”

“Shit,” Bernie says. “I forgot… I can get out of here, it's no bother.”

“What?” Serena says, furrowing her brow. “I just told you to join us!”

“Right but… doesn't really go along with our just friends narrative.”

Serena narrows her eyes at Bernie, puts her fist to her chin. “You are the most dense woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“You know, you call me stupid an awful lot…”

“Do you really think anyone buys that sorry story? I mean really? It's been months!”

“It was your idea!” Bernie protests. 

“Yes but for you, my dear. You seemed to need something to reassure you,” Serena says. “I wanted to ease you back into things.”

“So you’re saying you lied,” Bernie says, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t… it wasn’t a _lie_ ,” Serena sputters. “We did act with some discretion which is not a bad thing!”

“Until you stopped,” Bernie accuses. “And I had half the hospital asking me about you.” 

“What?” Serena says. 

“You could’ve at least told me,” Bernie says. “You could have been honest!”

“Rich, coming from you,” Serena says snidely. 

Bernie flinches, tucks chin for a moment while she recovers from the blow. 

Serena takes a deep breath and opens her hands toward Bernie, palms up. “I would have done anything to keep you here with me. I still would. For you, Bernie, I’d do anything. I… you’re so important to me and every nightmare I have these days starts with you leaving again.”

Bernie can see the tears in her eyes. 

Shit. Fuck. 

She rushes over, drops to her knees at the end of the bed, pulls Serena’s face to her hers and kisses her. 

Serena pulls away, nuzzles her face into Bernie’s palm. 

“I just love you, you daft muppet,” she says. 

“Yes, all right, I’m dim when it comes to these things,” Bernie says. “I get it.”

Serena laughs, wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Bernie kisses her forehead. “Good.”

oooo

It’s not that Bernie doesn’t love Serena, because she does. She aches with it. She thinks about Serena all the time, even when they're together, especially when they’re not. 

It’s the saying it that’s tricky. Serena has no problem saying it, says it to Bernie once a day and hasn’t, for some reason beyond Bernie’s understanding, made a fuss about how Bernie hasn’t said it back. 

She tries to tell her in other ways. Buys her tea in the afternoon and a pastry. An expensive bottle of wine for her birthday. A pretty scarf to wind around Serena’s graceful neck bought on a whim. And for everything that Bernie can’t say, she has no problem worshiping Serena when it comes to the bedroom. Touches her freely and often, uses her fingers and lips and everything else at her disposal to let Serena know that she is lovely and perfect and sexy and everything Bernie could dream up for herself. 

They’re at Bernie’s flat this evening and Bernie has Serena on the ropes, sweating and panting, teetering on the edge. She’s been there for a while. Bernie keeps yanking her back. Gets her shuddering and babbling incoherently and then gives her a nip to her thigh, pulls her back again.

“Please,” Serena sobs. Her hands are twisting in Bernie’s hair and she’s trying to force Bernie’s head back down where she wants it, but Bernie is stronger. 

Serena changes tactics, moves her own hand to her center but Bernie snags her wrist and uses the leverage to flip Serena onto her stomach.

“Naughty girl,” Bernie whispers, running her hands over Serena’s back. She slides over her, covering Serena with her body, skin to skin. Serena whimpers. Bernie kisses her neck and then wriggles until one of Serena’s thighs is between hers. Serena moans at the heat and the wet, at the wanton way Bernie rides her. 

It’s a miscalculation. It’s too good, the pleasure too distracting. She focuses too much on her own pleasure and not enough on Serena and it gives Serena the upper hand. She squirms free, manages to get up onto her knees and pushes Bernie down onto the mattress flat on her back. Then she slides down, pushes Bernie’s knees apart, and brings her mouth to Bernie’s clit. 

Nothing soft, nothing tender. She sucks it, she’s unrelenting. 

Bernie comes and comes. 

Serena sees her through it, kisses her sharp hip bone and then her stomach. Her breasts, each one, the dip at the base of her throat. And then collapses on top of her, pressing her face into her neck, both breathing hard. 

Bernie wraps her arms around her, chews at her lip. Waits for Serena to break the silence, but she doesn’t. 

Bernie strokes at all Serena’s bare skin and then reaches between them, finds Serena’s wet heat and slips three fingers into her. Serena’s mouth opens against Bernie’s neck in a wordless cry. Bernie doesn’t tease this time and it doesn’t take long before Serena’s trembling against her, spasming around Bernie’s fingers. And then boneless once more in her arms. 

Another long stretch of silence. Bernie can’t take it anymore. 

“You’ve…” She clears her throat and tries again. “You’ve not done that before.” 

“Hmm?” Serena says. Her eyes are still closed. She’s still floating along, enjoying her afterglow. 

“To me, I mean,” Bernie says. 

Serena lifts her head, looks confused for a moment and then it all seems to register. “Oh! No, well. Um. Was it… did you not care for it?”

“It was very good,” Bernie assures her. “I liked it very much.”

“So that’s settled then,” Serena says, tucking herself back into Bernie and closing her eyes. 

“I only mention it because I thought…” Bernie rolls her eyes at herself. Why can they practically tear each other to pieces in bed with no thought to propriety but talking about it turns them both into stuttering basket cases? “I thought you weren’t interested in it.”

“I never said that,” Serena says. 

“No but you also never… did it.” Bernie winces. “Which is fine. You do other things so well.” She huffs. “Which is to say that I don’t have complaints about how we-”

“Jesus, Bernie,” Serena says. 

“Make love,” Bernie finishes lamely. 

“Cheers,” Serena says dryly. 

“Sorry.”

Serena sighs. “I worry that I’ll be bad at it.” 

“You weren’t,” Bernie says.

“Well but that wasn’t… you were already so close. If I had to start from zero, I mean. I worry that you won’t… or rather, you will be disappointed.” Serena props herself up on her elbow and looks at Bernie. 

Bernie shakes her head. “Now who is the idiot?”

Serena gives her a look. “It’s me, isn’t it.”

“Afraid so,” Bernie says. 

Serena leans in, steals a soft kiss.

“Ah, well,” she says. "Probably my turn."


End file.
